


Star

by offensiveagentpie



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, more howard ponderings, ridiculous fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 07:37:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/offensiveagentpie/pseuds/offensiveagentpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you can’t go a little mad watching the man you love do something as mundane as removing his boots or putting on a shirt, Howard thinks, then life isn’t really worth living.</p>
<p>Part of the 100 prompt challenge: 46. Star</p>
            </blockquote>





	Star

According to the clock it’s either obscenely early or obscenely late, depending on how you choose to look at it. Vince has just returned home from a night out and is getting undressed. Howard is watching through squinted eyes, trying his best to look as though he’s asleep. He can’t help but feel a surge of guilt in doing so, even though he knows he’s allowed, even though he’s been told to do it on a couple of rather interesting occasions. This is a bit different though; there’s no showboating involved and it feels rather intensely intimate.

Upon returning, Vince flicked on the light near his bed. The whole thing is covered with scarves and it’s casting a dull red glow about the place. Not enough to be disturbing, but enough to see by and keep you from sleeping. It’s easy to see that Vince is trying his hardest to be quiet, but as usual, it’s just not working for him. Each thump and bump he makes as he moves about the room produces a muffled curse. He’s completely unguarded, totally unaware that Howard is watching. He looks absolutely and thoroughly exhausted.

Howard feels a surge of…something he can’t quite give a name to as he watches Vince plop down to remove his boots, a look of ease passing over his face as they finally come off. He wonders why on earth anyone would put themselves through such obvious discomfort, just for the sake of fashion. The thought is interrupted though, as a jacket and shirt are tossed unceremoniously to the floor. The black drainpipes require a bit of uncoordinated hopping to remove, but they soon join the shirt and jacket in a messed up pile.

Now Vince is standing in nothing but pants, gently rolling his head around on his neck and stretching his shoulders. Howard bites his lip as he watches shoulder blades move around and black hair fall down in ruffled clumps. The view is quickly replaced with Vince’s arse as he bends to retrieve something from the floor. When he stands up, he’s tugging one of Howard’s shirts down over his head.

The loud Hawaiian print fabric hangs off Vince’s frame in a comically oversized way. But that doesn’t stop Vince from smiling as he pulls the collar up to his nose and inhales.

Howard has never been more in love with anyone or anything than he is with Vince at that exact moment. Vince, completely at ease, not putting on any airs, not worrying about pulling any shapes or impressing any certain person. He’s not doing anything out of the ordinary, not doing anything special or purposely wonderful and yet he’s still the undeniable star on the stage of Howard Moon’s life. Which is utterly ridiculous…but then again, so is he. So are they. So is everything. If you can’t go a little mad watching the man you love do something as mundane as removing his boots or putting on a shirt, Howard thinks, then life isn’t really worth living.

He’s so lost in his thoughts, that he doesn’t notice Vince smirking at him. “If I’d known you were watching I’d’ve made a show of it,” he grins.

Howard grins back and scoots over in his bed, pulling the covers back. “That’s one benefit of my often mocked tiny eyes, Little Man. You never know when I’m watching. ‘Is he asleep? Is he waiting to make a move? We just don’t know.’”

Vince wrinkles his nose as he shuts the light of and shuffles to bed. “That sounds well creepy, you old pervert.”

“Says the tart who just admitted he’d be willing to do a strip show.”

“Mm,” Vince snuggles in close. “Maybe next time…definitely next time.” He’s asleep and snoring lightly within a matter of seconds.

Howard rubs a thumb against the spot where collar meets skin and hums happily in response.

**Author's Note:**

> I am, and probably always will be, utterly rubbish at endings.


End file.
